


The Good, The Bad and the Ugly

by cryptidcasanova



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, F/M, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels, The Good the Bad and the Ugly AU, cowboy, the good - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:28:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28940736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptidcasanova/pseuds/cryptidcasanova
Summary: Summary: Steve ‘Blondie’ Rogers and Brock ‘Angel Eyes’ Rumlow are both on the hunt for jewel of the desert. You.Brawls and shootouts and romance, oh my!I’ve been spending a lot of time watching old Spaghetti Westerns and couldn’t help but mentally replace Clint Eastwood with Steve Rogers.Warnings: Eventual Violence, Language, Manhandling, Smut. 18+. Intended for mature audiences. Please proceed with discretion.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Reader
Kudos: 5





	The Good, The Bad and the Ugly

**Author's Note:**

> I mean, come on. Nomad!Sharpshooter Rogers? Sheriff!Steve Rogers? Duster Daddy!Steve? 
> 
> I can’t get him out of my head.

Southwest United States 1862

* * *

Wagon train after wagon train of families passed through Albuquerque heading west, but the fight was heading their way.

The Yankees were overtaking the south, and every day stories spread through the county that soldiers were heading west. Every day there was another sharp shootin’ hero to save the day. But with the war there were deserters. There were outcasts, people who had abandoned the fight. They were finding easier ways to earn their money.

They were gambling and cheating and killing and stealing. It was a fast way of living. It was a fast way of dying.

The southwest was a hard place to live. The wind was hot and the ground was dry and the rolling hills had turned to desert. Vultures and buzzards circled in the air, and on the ground rattlesnakes and coyotes roamed the wasteland.

But there were scarier things out there than the wildlife. 

Flies and the dead went together like bullets and guns. Many folks had seen more than their fair share of death and violence. _And the smell._ It was unforgettable.

The wanted posters in the New Mexico Territory were stacking up and warrants were being handed out left and right. $100 here, $250 there. Some men had bounties on their heads upwards of $1,000. That kind of money could change a man’s life. Average wages were less than a dollar a day in these parts.

Bounty hunters were searching for bodies while miners were searching for gold.

Most of the time the bounty hunters had better luck.

And the men they were hunting had a range of dangerous charges on their heads. Possession of stolen items, heists, kidnapping, pillaging, fornication, rape, bigotry, murder. The wild west had it all. 

And then there was one man, one bounty hunter who was worth the whole damn bunch.

Blondie. 

That’s what the locals called him. He was a tall, strapping man with hardened blue eyes and tanned skin in the summer sun. His hands were strong and rough from years of labor, and he wasn’t called blondie for nothing. He had the lightest golden hair in the west and a darker, rugged beard to match. 

He usually dressed in soft white and blue colors to withstand the heat. Sometimes the red blood of his bounties would marr the white of his shirt.

It looked almost patriotic. 

A rimmed hat sat low on his head and the twill duster he wore swayed behind him. The boots matched, spurs spinning slowly in his wake. 

Blondie was not a man to be crossed. The big iron strapped to his hip never missed a shot and the sway in his steps warned of his power.

A murder walk.

He was a man of few words and he was tracking down an outlaw across the state lines.

Brock _‘Angel Eyes’_ Rumlow. 

Brock was part of a band of raiders that settled along the outskirts of the New Mexico-Kansas Territories. He was a smooth talking devil that had been notorious for robbing unsuspecting travelers on the road. He had taken women and gunned down many men, but his cunning prowess saved him from the noose many times.

Well, that and his brute strength.

But something had changed. 

News got around that Angel Eyes and his raiders had stolen a shipment of dynamite and ammo that was being transported by train back to New York. The train never made it. It was overrun with raiders. 

And the bounty on Brock’s head? 

_$10,000._

That was enough money to settle down.

The Yankee and Confederate lines crossed more often than not in these territories, and safe travel was rare to come by. The far off rattles of canons and bullets flying echoed in the valleys. The journey was going to be a difficult one.

But Blondie was a wanderer. He was as free as the tumbleweeds. He was a man of the land.

Or at least that’s what people thought. 

But when he was home, you just called him Steve.


End file.
